MY BEST DAY EVER

The greatest day of my life was the one when Maddie was born and came out crying with a shock of (ephemeral) dark hair ala her old man.

Then when she came home from the NICU after 68 days clad in an adorable dress and I said, “Holy cow! I have a little girl living in my home! Can I move an inch to the left? To the right? What can I do to make all cool with my tiny little angel?” I eventually figured this out.

Then on Father’s Day last year when I held her in my arms and gave her thousands of kisses.

Then when she had her second Christmas up North and opened presents with her mom, dad, cousins and grandparents. And Daddy kissed her a million times. She was so happy…

Then in Arizona this March – if you look hard enough you can find a video where she LOVES her cousins for jumping from bed to bed in the hotel room. She so WANTED to be like them…after she died her four-year-old cousin asked me about Maddie being “lost” and how we could find her and I had to just walk away.

Perhaps the best day was one of the ones during our last weekend together. Those were great. I will have to figure out where those fit into the ratings.

But you know what? The best day of my life was every one of those seventeen months I was blessed to know her. Every day was the best, clearly, because every day without her is so awful. Sorry if that is depressing…anyway….moving on…

My life with Heather before Maddie was pretty awesome too….the day we met…our wedding day….on a beach in Fiji on our Honeymoon, etc. Damn…our ETC’s were pretty kick ass.

ANYHOO…

If you take Heather and Maddie out of things the best day ever to happen to me NOT INCLUDING MADDIE AND HEATHER is surprisingly…

…NOT…

A) The first time I had sex. Sorry, Miss (not to be named). You were cool and all, but still not the best moment ever.

Hitting the first home run in my high school’s history. It was awesome, yes, and when my teammates mobbed me at home plate afterward it was a great moment. Still…eh.

C) Hearing I got into USC film school…this is tainted by the fact that despite beating out 99% of applicants only one of my 24 classmates is actually making a living as a filmmaker.

SO WHAT WAS THE BEST DAY EVER EXCLUDING MY FAMILY?

The best day of my life was when the Beatles’ Anthology played on TV back in 1995 and they debuted the reunion track “Free as a Bird.” For those who don’t know, Paul, George and Ringo took a demo John had recorded in his home in the late Seventies prior to being murdered and finished it in the studio in the early Nineties. The resulting track blew me away. To hear a new Beatles song as a dude born five years after they broke up was amazing. To hear a new Beatles’ track 15 years after John was even more amazing!

Now I know many people dissed the song because John’s voice was distant (since he recorded it on a tape recorder alone in his room before he died) or because the song just wasn’t what they hoped for… but I loved it. Making a “NEW BEATLES SONG!” twenty-five years after the band broke up and 15 years after John died was a tall order, but I loved it from Ringo’s opening drum fill to the silly ukelele ending. No, it was not as catchy as their earlier stuff…but they all had grown more pensive as time went on and they were older. Honestly, I didn’t want to hear “Love Me Do” from John at forty and the other lads in their fifties. What we heard was them as they were at the time…older men who saw life wasn’t all “yeah, yeah, yeah.” Ringo drummed awesome, George played slide guitar as no one has since, and Paul did what Paul does…added sublime harmonies and bass and piano and guitar and who knows what else.

Anyhoo…despite this song’s grungy and sad tone it never struck me as sad…just joyful. This was the Beatles’ reunion! Anyway, recently I heard it again and it finally struck me how sad this song was.

The verses John wrote were about someone discussing how wonderful home and family was, but clearly he was a bird (metaphorically) far away from home.

And then the bridge written by Paul and George arrives:

“Whatever happened to the life that we once knew?
Can we really live without each other?
Where did we lose the touch?
It seemed to mean so much
Always made me feel so…free as a bird”

When I heard this again I couldn’t help but cry. The joy was gone.

“Whatever happend to the life that we once knew? Can we really live without each other?

I don’t know.

I really don’t know what happened to the life we once knew, and I don’t know how I can live without Maddie. It did always make me feel so free…

92 Comments

These are the questions that are so hard to ask, because they have no answer. But every day, you wake up and they demand examination. One of the first things that made me love reading about yours and Heather’s life is how you each offered a different window into the same home, a story told from different perspectives. But both always so full of humor, a wit that made fun of no one but yourselves. And in every picture I’ve seen of your sweet Maddie, it was so obvious that she was so both of your guys’ kid. She was FUNNY. And I know that right now, nothing seems funny, or if it does for a second, then you feel bad about that. Because how can life go on? I don’t know. I know it will never again be the best day like those, but I hope that someday you two have some where the pain is not so close to the surface. Love to you both. L

As much as I LOVE music. I NEVER really hear the words. I wish I could explain why, because I know I’m missing out on some beautiful messages, but I just never hear anything beyond the melody and the sound.

april in NJ says:

I too remember that song and I loved it! But I never really thought it was sad (until now that is). I can’t imagine that life will EVER be the same for you and Heather… but I think (I hope anyway) that you’ll find a new kind of life. I hope that doesn’t come across the wrong way. You’ll never forget Maddie… but she would want you both to be happy. I hope you try to remember that. I hope that one day life does get easier and that you can think of Maddie and smile (I’m sure you do anyway). I could weep right now for the both of you (or all of you). Heather seems so lost and so do you. I pray that you both find peace. Don’t forget to love each other… most of all, don’t EVER forget that.
much love and hugs from NJ.

Jill says:

Ah, I have no answers for you. I only hope that you wake one morning and it hurts just the tiniest, littlest, most miniscule iota less than it did the day before. And then you go from there. Until then, take it day by day, my friend, day by day.

I don’t have an answer, I don’t think anyone does. Try to find comfort in your friends, family, Heather, and memories of that life you once had so you can make through this. Thinking of you and sending many hugs and much love.

I don’t have any words in response to this. I wish I did. All I can say is that I think of you and Heather and Maddie every single day and hope in some cosmic way it helps you both to feel better (even though I know it doesn’t).

Alli says:

You are an amazing writer. Reading your words, I am left feeling like I know you, like I was there. Nothing anyone says will take your pain away or answer your questions as to why this happened. I wish I could be there just to give you and Heather a hug and cry with you. It is clearly obvious by Maddie’s amazing smile and her whole face smiling, that she was a happy girl because she had two great parents that loved her so much. Although her time on earth was short, she blessed many she was around and she was blessed to have you and Heather.

Michele says:

Just wanted you to know that I am crying with you, for your loss and for the world’s loss of your daughter. I wrote the same on Heather’s blog. I can’t alleviate your grief (or even fathom it) but I am here, checking in on you, thinking of you and your family, and sending a prayer up for you all, especially for Maddie, whenever I see purple. Do whatever you have to do to get through. I hope the knowledge that people are thinking of your beautiful, luminous Maddie brings you some comfort. Sending hugs from Staten Island, NY.
Take care, Michele

Kristen says:

Mike – I don’t even know what to say. I feel guilty that I enjoy reading something that must be so painful to write. I don’t know if the writing helps you – but it certainly helps others appreciate what they DO have right now, this minute. You know better than anyone that everything can change at any time. Much love to you both.
-Kate

kristen says:

mike,
i think the most important part of what you wrote was that “The best day of my life was every one of those seventeen months I was blessed to know her.” hold onto that thought in your darkest moments of this new shitty reality. Trust that your love for maddie made her into the smart, beautiful, happy child that loved christmas and her cousins and her mommy and daddy so very much. that life you knew…it was so real and beautiful…i hope it sustains you today, tomorrow, and forever.
loads of love for you from me.

Michelle says:

I cannot even begin to tell you how sorry I am. I will tell you I am glad you are writing….when a few weeks had passed, I was worried about you. I hope your writing gives you some peace, even for a brief moment. The words you use to detail memories of precious Maddie are amazing…I’m amazed that you can even focus long enough to get a sentence down, much less a beautiful, well-written tribute to your adorable daughter. Please know many are praying for you, Heather and your family. Anytime I see the color purple it has such a significant meaning now…I have thought of Maddie daily and each time I see iris’ in bloom, a patch of tulips or even a person in a purple shirt…she is thought of again. I hope the days ahead are gentle on you…

My husband Chris lost his younger brother (his only sibling) to suicide in 2004. Their parents both died young, years before. His brother was all he had left (not counting me, of course) and they were so very close. The last time Chris and his brother spoke, they were in an argument. His brother died that day.

When his brother died a piece of Chris died too. He changed. He was a shell of the man I knew and I had to learn to love a completely different person. Throughout Chris’ grief, I watched him struggle with the same types of feelings and emotions you’re dealing with. He said that nothing would ever be the same, nothing mattered the way it used to. I lost my brother in law and I also lost my joyful (…free) husband. Would he… would WE ever have things the way they were before? No… no, because we lost a part of our family, and our families define who we are. No, it would never be the same. That made me very, very sad. Chris and I almost drifted apart. We’ve stayed together. We’re good now. But it’s been rough.

In 2006, we had a daughter. When he found out I was pregnant (only a year after his brother died) he told me he didn’t want to be a father. He didn’t want to love a child. He was afraid to love again. The moment I told him I was pregnant – he told me he wanted me to have an abortion. This just about killed me. I told him I was having the baby. He sobbed. He said that was my decision. I knew he was still grieving, I knew he didn’t mean the things he said, but I was hurt. I was scared of what the future held for us. For him. It was dark.

Thankfully… the birth of our daughter started Chris on a new journey and she has given Chris a new joy. A new freedom. A new lease on life. I feel like a complete IDIOT here adding our child to this story, but I’m trying to make a point… a point that I hope reads well.

Chris was irrevocably changed the moment his brother died. That part of him is still missing. There’s still a hole. He really believed he’d “never be happy again” (Yes, he SAID that to ME). But… the changed and different Chris has found love and happiness again when we both thought he wouldn’t.

Losing a child is on a completely different scale than losing a sibling. I’m not trying to compare the two and I’m not trying to promise you sunshine and rainbows – I won’t belittle your grief like that. What I am trying to say (however ineloquently) is that, even though Maddie is gone, never, ever give up hope for what tomorrow may bring you. Be brave.

I hurt so much for you. Because I don’t know either. I know you’re supposed to get out of bed every day. You’re supposed to breathe in and out. But beyond that, I don’t know. I wish I had your answer. I wish I could give that to you right now.

It’s truly incredible the sheer emotion music can bring about. Joy , sorrow, anger, confusion…there is a song that brings me to tears every time I hear it because it reminds me of my father who passed away suddenly. But I love it at the same time because it reminds me of him.
Crazy yes. But nothing about death/losing some one you love so intensely makes a whole heck of a lot of sense.

Amy says:

Why do we have to lose someone to really hear the words of a song, to decide what our best days were/are, to figure out how to go on??

Its not fair. Those words to that beloved Beatles song, shouldn’t have any particular meaning to you, they should just be beautiful melodies and nothing more. Every day should be your best day because Maddie should be in them. And you shouldn’t have to figure how to go on….

Keeping you, Maddie and Heather in my thoughts, because that’s about all I can do. Love to you all….

tara says:

i think of you, heather and maddie every single day. my heart aches for you and i am just so deeply sorry. there are so many of us, like me, who don’t know you and are sending you so much love everyday.

tammy says:

Oh, Mike. I’ve never posted here before, but I read both you and Heather’s blogs often. I think about you guys and your Maddie every single day. It tears my insides up to think about what y’all are dealing with right now.

Just know that there are tons of people out there hurting for you. Hurting with you. Missing Maddie right along side you.

BTW – I loved the Bealtes and I remember when the anthology came out. I was in 9th grade and in the middle of my most full-blown Bealtes obsession. Good, good stuff.

Meme says:

Mike – I read both blogs from you and Heather. I got to Heather from Stacie (here storkey) and she & I know each other from our infertility battles. My heart breaks for you – it just seems so awful what you are guys are facing. You put it so well – about the struggle to get through each day – really, how are you supposed to do this? I guess like Insta Mom says, one foot in front of the other, trying to breathe and take one step forward. I can appreciate the struggle each of you feels and how to try to support each other, when each of you are dying inside. I do think of you and your family often, every time I hug my little one, I think of hugs for Maddie and I appreciate every moment with her as we know how fleeting life is.

I am so very sorry for you both – let this community be with you and somehow try to hold you up as you learn to walk a different life.

it’s been said already but i will do it again: you are one hell of a writer. i can’t stop reading your blog and heather’s blog and i just want to scream my head off for the both of you, tear my hair out, cry my eyes out and curse really loudly and wholeheartedly because this whole thing just SUCKS. it is so unfair that maddie is gone, that you have to deal with this, that you have to face life without her. i hate it. too many rhetorical questions come up: how can this happen? how can i make it better? why why why? and there are no answers and i hate it. my heart hurts for you, all of our hearts hurt like crazy for you, and i wish i could take some of that pain off your shoulders and stick it on mine. life just effin’ sucks sometimes. it really does.

I hurt for you and for Heather. And I know you have heard people say so many times I’m sorry.. but I don’t think people can think of anything else to say. I am glad you have Heather to hold close. ((hug)) Wish there was something I could do….

Tami says:

When I read your blog and Heathers blog I just cry. I cant help but feel the pain you are going threw of losing Maddie. I didnt know her but when I seen the pictures of her or watched the videos and saw this happy little girl with big blue eyes, she just melted my heart.. I didnt know she had much health problems. The day I read Heathers blog that she had died it was like my heart stopped for a moment. I dont think its fair her life was taken so soon. I get mad and I loose my faith, because why would god take someones baby? If I was to lose my son, my life would end.. I worry about somthing happing to me and I wouldnt be here to take care of him. that thought crushes me. I cant take the pain away, I wish I could and I wish I could give Maddie back, but I cant. All I can do is to let you know that your pain and Heathers pain rips my heart out. I shed tears for your loss. I hope some day the pain will ease. Give your self some time the wound is still so fresh. Missing Maddie sucks. My thoughts and tears are right along with you and Heather.
Hugs!

There are no right words. How lucky you are to have had all of those wonderful “best days” with Maddie. But too few. Way, way too few. You deserved years and years more “best days” with her. What a lucky girl, that Maddie, to have such a devoted, attentive, loving father. If she could tell us, I know she would say she was lucky too, to have spent her days with the best parents she could ever possibly have had.

Poppy Hiser says:

Mike,
so often Dads get ignored when a child is lost. When we lost our daughter Murphy to prematurity in 2007 many people seemed to focus on me and forget that my husband was hurting so much too. Men in our society are expected to be strong, gentle, not cry, and be a rock of support. Please be gentle with yourself as you find your own unique way to grieve the loss of your beautiful beautiful little girl. she will always be Daddy’s Girl. My deepest condolences for your loss. Poppy Hiser and Family

Sarah M. says:

God bless you, Heather & your amazing little angel, Maddie. I don’t know how you’re able to function without her, but I have to believe Maddie is watching over you. That’s the only way I can accept horrible losses like yours. I have to believe those we love are so close to us at all times after they’ve passed.

I wish I could explain how much reading your & Heather’s blogs means to me & to your other readers. You’re both making us appreciate our lives & loved ones so much more. Because of her, we’re learning to love deeper & more often. I think that’s a wonderful legacy for a 17 month old little girl to leave behind. She had more of an impact on this world & on people she never even met that any of us will ever know.

Patty says:

Mike, I wish there was a magical answer for you, but there isn’t. I wrote to Heather that all I have thought since that terrible dark day in your life is “this doesn’t make sense!” I don’t get how this happened. There is no rhyme or reason. I guess it is true, tomorrow is promised to no one. The best you can do is remember the love you have, don’t ever let it go. Hold on tight to Heather, when it is hard then hold on tighter. You both need each other, as hard as it is to go through this together. Life will never be as you once knew it, but this cloud will eventually no be so heavy. It was the love you and Heather share that created the beautiful spirit that you had to give to heaven way too soon. Please keep writing, I believe it will help you too, along with counseling. I don’t actually KNOW you IRL, but I love you and your beautiful Heather and your most precious Maddie Moo.

meg says:

Kim says:

“The best day of my life was every one of those seventeen months I was blessed to know her.”

Maddie was blessed as well, Mike. You and Heather are awesome parents! Maddie spent everyday of her life surround by blissful love and was so happy and vibrant, always remember her that way.

I’ve never commented on your blog but got here through Heather’s, I am so very sorry for your loss, so very very sorry. I just wanted you to know that I think of your family constantly, and wish there were some way for things to be different. No parent should ever have to experience the hell you’re in, I’m sorry that you are.

I have a 3yr old girl, also called Maddie (Madelaine). Since she was about 4 months old I have sung her the same some everynight. “In my life” by the beatles. When I sing it now I often think of you and your wife, and that I’m sure the lyrics would be so meaningful and touching to you as well. I heard it sang be Bette Midler (strange I know), but she did a slow version that brings me to tears everytime I hear it. Music has a way of helping you understand yourself in a way that you might not have otherwise.

I hope you can find some solace in those songs that remind you of her. Please take care of yourself and your beautiful wife.

A day never passes that I don’t think of you. The smile and twinkle in your eye when you introduced Maddie to my family. You talked of the stages that you loved and missed. You are an amazing person and an amazing father, always! I wish there was something I could do to take away the hurt you feel.
Sara

I agree about hearing songs from artists later in life, they are different. Deeper, sadder, but also more grateful.

Life is so much different at 48 than it was at 28. Loss has been suffered, joy has been had. Things that seemed so very important then are so trivial now. I guess the secret is just moving along and once in awhile stopping to note the changes. But I can’t do it often, or dwell on it to long, or I can’t get back to today. Depression is an easy pit to fall in to and so, so very hard to find the way out of.

Crying with you at your loss and wishing it never happened, but thanking you and your sweet wife that you’re sharing. I think I’m learning more about my losses and what I did right and wrong and what’s held me back through my journey.

I really don’t know how you carry on. But somehow, you are doing it. I’m glad you had those 17 months with your angel. I’m glad you have Heather. I wish you had more “best days” with Maddie. It’s not fair, and it sucks. And I don’t know what more can be said. I wish I had something to offer. (((Hugs)))

Alexandra says:

Mike, you don’t have to apologize for being “depressing.” What has happened to your life is something that scares all of us as parents out here…it could happen to any one of us. We cling to you now to show us that you do somehow survive, exist, make it second by second. I don’t know if I could….I watch you, see you, and am amazed that a human can continue to get up, get dressed, drive somewhere. You are on the other side, the side that scares me to bits…I watch you, pray for y ou, wish you the best and whisper every time I read a post, “Go, Mike, Go….Maddie is there, waiting on the other side for you, keep going, Mike, just keep going…”

Michelle W says:

I was doing okay when you were talking about the Beatles, I knew something was going to connect but when it didn’t I still wasn’t quite ready and then my throat constricted and tears sprang to my eyes. I can’t imagine a grief more profound or consuming than the grief of losing your child, my heart goes out to all of you.

I’m so, so sorry. I feel like that’s all I ever say in my comments to you and Heather of late, but damn…nothing else seems to fit. Like others have said, I still think of you all at some point throughout every day (I don’t know why…don’t know if that’s odd) and I try to focus on sending you every bit of positive energy I can muster.

I like that you told us what days weren’t as big of a deal as some might have thought. There aren’t really any words, but if what you write helps you to release a little of your pain, I hope you know how willing so many are to take that pain and share it, somehow lighten your load just a little bit. I wish there were answers. I wish you and Heather some measure of peace, somehow. ((HUGS))

Mike – I already responded to this post, but I bounced over here just to give you a big, fat, internet hug after reading Heather’s post today. I have no words – or even the imagination – to fathom what you are feeling right now, and what you are going through, but I hope you can feel the love we have for you and Heather. We all do. And it will keep coming, and coming, and coming, until you heal as well as you could after suffering such a terrible loss. No matter how long it takes. xoxoxo

Thinking of you all today – it is rainy here in Myrtle Beach and I hate rainy days … I then thought about all the rainy days you are facing – I stopped and prayed! I hope you feel my prayers and the hugs I am sending you and your wife!

Megan says:

I’ve commented on Heather’s blog a few times and wanted to come over here to tell you, as well, how very sorry I was to hear about Maddie. I had never read your blog or Heather’s until I saw another blog entry about Maddie’s passing, and now I go to both of them every day and have cried countless tears for you three. Maddie’s beauty and spirit shine through in every entry both of you have written and it breaks my heart to know she’s gone. I have lost relatives and pets before but I’ve never been affected by something the way I have reading about your family. You and Heather are both wonderful people who I wish I knew IRL, and it boggles my mind that this had to happen to your family.

Kate S says:

I am so sorry, Mike. I wish I had an answer for you. I think of you guys every day. I hope having this online space as your outlet is a source of strength for you. You mustn’t apologize about writing anything depressing. We are here for you, we love your family and adore Maddie, and we want you to say whatever you need to say, hoping that getting it off your chest may bring even a tiny bit of relief, however temporary it may be.

Suzanne says:

I already commented, but I am back to say that I am so terribly sorry for your loss — the worst loss imagineable and the worst grief. I am thinking of you and Heather and your Madeline every day. I can only say that in your stead, I would be shattered — unable to function. I know words are useless but, in the event that the support of total strangers helps you even the tiniest bit, please know that we are here.

Amy says:

While I don’t know you I want you to know I am here. And while that is not much I’m hoping my presence along with the thousands of others who are present with you will somehow give you enough strength to make it through each day without the presence of the one who matters most. My heart aches for your and Heather.

Brandy says:

I can’t pretend to know what you’re going through. We had a scary few days in the PICU two years ago and I was…frantic is the only word that comes close. Talking about it rationally months after, I told my husband that coming close to losing our child was just as bad as actually losing my mother when I was 19. What I can tell you about losing the person closest to me, and my mother was that for me, is that 14 years later, I still see her, I still think of her, I still miss her. I don’t mention this to make you emotional. I say this because though it makes me sad, it also makes her real to me for brief moments and that these moments are as much a comfort as a anything. Sometimes they do bring the grief back, but it’s okay. There’s no timetable for when you’re supposed to feel better and you can be sad as long as you like. But I hope that you are able to find the sunshine again – sooner rather than later. It’s there, waiting for you.

Deidre says:

I keep writing on Heather’s blog, but have been meaning to touch base with you. I just want you to know that although I can not relate to your particular grief, I have had my share of grief. My husband died when our little girl was four. My father just died a few months ago. Nevertheless, grief can just sneak up and totally attack you from behind. No warning, just this tsunami of emotions. I am heartbroken that Thursday was unbearable. I would suggest having a friend from work pick you up in the morning. You don’t know how honored this chosen person will be and how willing they are to help you. People love to feel needed when others are distraught in grief. It seems like any distraction can sometimes get you from point A to B. Driving alone is not a good thing when you are in the depths of your grief. However, I love to be alone in the car when I am grieving. Your a brave man in the battlefield and you many people following you to watch your steps. You break, re-group, and then march forward. You know this is what Maddie would want for you. Please remember Maddie’s essence is the same today as it was 2 months ago. Nothing will ever change that. Nothing.

cj says:

Mike,
I wish I had the magic power to take your and Heather’s pain away. I am thinking about the two of you every day – several times a day. I think about you guys when I read your blogs, I think about you when I am at work (today I realized for the first time that there are purple paper clips in my box of paper clips) and I think about you when I go into our 2 year old daugther’s room at night to check on her when I can not hear her breathing over the baby-phone. Emily was born 14 weeks early weighing 1 lb 8 oz. During her 113 days in the NICU we “almost lost” her a few times and a few times I broke down right there in the NICU next to her incubator. We did not lose her and were able to bring her home. Still today we have not yet completed the healing process from what we experienced during her first months. Sometimes I watch her during her gymnastic class and all of a sudden the memories of how we thought we would never see her run or jump or flip comes back and I start tearing up. I can not explain it to the other Mom’s. I do not know what to tell them. Sometimes my husband and I can work together as a couple in this healing process and sometimes we have to do that as individuals by ourselves. How unbearable must it be to lose your child – the little version of you and Heather – after 17 months? It hurts to even think about that. I have no idea how anyone is supposed to go on or even get better after something like this. My only thought is, that it was your and Heather’s strength that brought this amazing little person into this world and gave her a chance at life and made it possible for her to change so many other people’s lifes. And so I hope that the two of you can find that strength again for you. I never met Maddie but I am sure she would want you to go on, start healing and some day find beauty in your life again.

Danes says:

Mike, never apologize again for writing things that might be ‘depressing’. This IS depressing – and I think it’s incredibly brave (yes, brave. I know you guys don’t like being labeled as heroes because of this, but it IS brave) to put yourself out there on the line every day – raw emotions and all. I have no advice because I can’t even fathom the horror of what you’re going through, and I agree that the only place Maddie belongs is home with you. I love you, I love Heather and there isn’t a day that goes by that I don’t think of your beautiful little girl multiple times.

Cameron says:

It’s horrible. I’m so sorry. There aren’t really words for how awful and unfair and ____________ this all is. We’ll all try to reassure you and comfort you and take whatever weight we can off this burden. We all want so much to be able to help you get back up every time you fall apart. And you need to get back up, just as much as you need to fall apart. The wrteched fact of the matter is that every time you pick yourself back up is the last time, and every time you fall apart again is the first time and time won’t mean much of anything at all for a long while.

Don’t forget, you’re someone’s baby, too. And someone’s husband and you have friends and family and total strangers who love you and want you to find a way through this awful place to something new and, eventually, happy.

If she could say so, Maddie would want you to be okay. I’m sure she’d prefer to be there with you, too, but if you can still notice what she would notice and appreciate the things that made her smile and laugh and let them brighten your heart for a moment at a time… here and there…

kristen says:

just wanted to tell you that you are a special father. you are a special father to maddie. i hope you know that your smart, happy, gorgeous daughter with the unforgettable smile has forever changed my life and the lives of so many others. maddie will live on in the hearts of all of us…i know its not enough that perfect strangers are here to support you and have grown to care about you, but i hope it helps to ease your pain even a little bit. in peace, kristen

I have nothing to say that’s worth saying. I’m just here in Maine where spring is finally springing and I often will be looking at my beans sprouting or the fullness of my bleeding hearts and I’ll be swept up in a feeling- a hope- that at that moment you and Heather are making it through just that one moment and are experiencing little pockets of peace.

How’s that for a run on sentence?

And that picture of you holding Maddie? From your last weekend together? Is bursting from the page with joyfulness.

elismsue says:

The fact that you can share these senses you feel…the loss, the ache, the moments that are void of feeling…is a blessing. The eloquent way you have shared this message is beyond definition. I am immersed in your loss…I feel your pain, your sense of being lost, your feeling of being less than whole. I am so sorry for the pain you and Heather are having to experience and having to live through. BUT…you have the words to express it and share it in a way that assists us in trying to help you through this. You are strong, you are entitled to these feelings and you continue to help us to help you.

Carrie says:

I can’t find anyhthing to say that could possibly help ease your pain. I am so sorry for your loss… I never met her, I just read about her on your wifes blog, and I miss her. I can’t even fathom the pain you feel. I am so sorry

Paula says:

I’m a 47 year old teacher in West Texas. Driving home from work today, I passed a house on my street that had one of those little car strollers exactly like Maddie’s sitting on the front porch. I smiled a bittersweet smile and thought about that sweet baby girl and her parents who miss her so much. I thought about beautiful funny delightful joyful Maddie. I wish she was still with you and none of this other ever happened. I’m sorry.

Meg says:

I just had to say that I always say that my best day ever (aside from the birth of my daughter…and my wedding, I guess) is seeing Paul McCartney live. And ooooh, when the Anthology was on TV – OMG. I worked at a restaurant then..I remember stalling near the bar to try to watch it…running home to make sure my VCR got it. I think I still have in on VHS somewhere.